"Deliciae."

The simple utterance from your husband's lips is enough to draw you out of your solitude, eyes lifting from the poetic texts scattered over your chaise to watch the broad figure entering the room. Even your dogs at your feet stir similarly as if they too can sense the importance of a moment like this; the importance of your husband's return from yet another successful conquest in the name of Rome.

And there he stands, no signs of the typical spoils of war littering his skin or his clothing. You're certain this is because Geta and Caracalla wanted to flaunt Acacius' success in front of Rome's subjects— festivities held in the heart of the capital to parade him around in, most likely— but also festivities you'd felt inclined to skip in order to give your husband a proper homecoming instead.

Your feet carry you towards Acacius without hesitation, and he receives you not like the decorated war general he is, but instead the man you love, desperate for your touch and proximity.

"They wish to expand… to bring Persia and India under their influence," he mutters, pulling you tight to his chest and sighing. "They wish to hold games in my honor while Rome struggles to feed her many subjects."

With another sharp exhale, Acacius rests his temple against yours. Even though he stands strong, the weariness that bleeds from his frame is all-too apparent. You don't ask whether he has been granted respite; once the games conclude, he will be taken from you once more and sent out to carry out the whims of the mad men Rome calls her Emperors. You know it all too well.

… But for now, he is yours. Calloused fingers much larger than yours cup your hands, brushing against the various rings and jewels settled over your knuckles with gentle ease.

"Allow me to occupy your company," Acacius whispers, no— pleads while he shoos away your dogs, leading you both back to your chaise to sit together. If there is anything that could bring him to his knees willingly, it's you.

"Please… allow me your affection."